to know. The Bishop of Pontefract is dead and they have offered you his job. Mother telephoned the good news just as Ching Foo and Bisham were putting you in the van. It was the P.M. telephoned to the Vicarage. As you weren't in, he's given you till midday to let him know if you accept or not. So you see, if you agree to wash out your authorship of those two books, you not only needn't go whaling, but you can be a bishop into the bargain. On the other hand, refuse our demands and it's into the fo'c'sle of the Lizzie Packer for yours, old gentleman, and ta-ta for ever to those big transparent sleeves."
"Tell me," said the Archdeacon hoarsely, "what it is you want me to do? Tell me at once."
"Why," she said, "it's of the simplest. Give Bisham here your key to your locker in that Safe Deposit and your authorisation
